


to the moon (and to saturn)

by lovelylogans



Series: the sideshire files [15]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Dating, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multi, This is just cute and fluffy, Three month anniversary, listen i wanted to write the boys going on a date okay, wyliwf!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: it's roman and logan's three-month anniversary. logan's trying his very best to make sure it's the best one ever.he justalsohappens to be a bit nervous about the present he's got for roman.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: the sideshire files [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464067
Comments: 32
Kudos: 110





	to the moon (and to saturn)

**Author's Note:**

> _love you to the moon and to saturn_  
>  _passed down like folk songs_  
>  _the love lasts so long_  
>  _—seven,_ taylor swift
> 
> frankly i came This Close to reusing paper rings lyrics as a oneshot title, but taylor has come through and dropped a new album!! here’s a quick, sweet little oneshot that’s been floating around in my head for a while, just to hold you over until i release something a bit more substantial—i’m Trying to post once a month and this is my way of keeping that promise!

logan doesn’t blush very often.

oh, sure, he does _sometimes_ , and the times he does frankly delights roman, but unfortunately whatever “go rosy pink whenever i hear a compliment” gene that patton has didn’t get passed down. 

however, when logan does go all red in the cheeks (he missed the "delicate rosy pink" gene, too) it's enough to make roman grin all stupidly huge. 

so when roman’s cheeks start to _ache_ just minutes after logan picks him up for their date for their three-month anniversary, roman starts to suspect that _maybe_ something is up. just a little. 

ever since logan had mentioned it was their three-month anniversary the approaching friday (which roman, of course, had _known_ , but he hadn’t expected _logan_ to be the one to pitch the whole anniversary date idea!) he’s been kind of avoiding roman, which roman had assumed was a combination of midterms at chilton and him getting out of friday night dinner with his grandparents (which patton managed with surprising ease; apparently it’s a special enough occasion, plus patton’s still going) and him planning their date. he hadn’t really figured logan was avoiding him-avoiding him, until, well, now.

when logan’s blush is making him look all silly.

roman bumps logan lightly; andeloro’s is close enough, and they’ve been blessed with a temperate enough march evening that walking is an actual option. 

“what?” logan asks, squeezing his hand lightly. he looks very dapper in the same indigo suit coat he’d worn to the chilton dance three months ago, with his hair done all nice.

roman doesn’t even bother tamping down his smile, which makes logan blush _more_ , and roman just laughs a little, swinging their hands.

“nothing,” he says. “i’m just—happy, s’all.” he waits a beat, for logan to duck his head, before he tacks on, “blush lightyear.”

logan scowls and bumps him right back, but since they’re still holding hands it doesn’t really knock roman off course very much.

“stop it,” logan grumbles.

“you look cute,” roman says, unable to really keep the teasing tone out of his voice.

“you look beautiful,” logan counters back, absolutely serious and not even a little bit teasing, in the absolutely unfair way he does, and now roman’s the one blushing, darn him.

even though, well. it’s pretty obvious that roman is really trying this evening; he’s wearing a brand-new, red satin dress, one he’d tried on in a store on a whim and absolutely fallen in love with the way it fell on him. it matches the red roses that logan brought him when he’d picked him up, with an a-line skirt that flares out but not too much, and a v-neck that _actually_ lies flat on his chest, not bunched up all funny looking for something to fill it that won’t be there to fill it, and a pair of matching dark red heels that makes him a bit taller than logan for the first time since logan’s growth spurt last fall, and a makeup look that’s as even a combination that he can manage between coquettish and experimental. he’s already had to wipe a dark red lip print off logan’s face with one of the makeup wipes he’s storing in his clutch.

“you ain’t half-bad yourself,” roman says, with a softness in his tone that underlies the inherently joking words. 

logan ducks his head, a smile playing about his lips. rather than say anything, he turns ever so slightly and kisses roman on the cheek.

roman’s got a feeling this goofy grin on his face is gonna stay here the _whole_ night.

logan lets go of his hand, but it’s only so he can scuttle ahead and open the door for roman with a little gesture of his hand, like, _after you_ , and roman offers a teeny little curtsy and sashays his way into the restaurant.

roman’s been to andeloro’s a handful of times; it’s mostly whenever his mom’s fancy ballet friends come into town to visit, he and his mom and ballerinas from all over sitting at the long table in the middle of the restaurant, and most of the conversation including him starts off something like dimitri, who’d been a premier danseur to his mom’s prima ballerina, still hulking and massive even though he’s retired to teaching too, growling out something like _you practice daily, da?_

which is to say, he’s been to andeloro’s enough to familiarize himself with how it looks—the red tablecloths, the opera music playing softly in the background, the waiters in their coats and bowties—but he’s never been here on a _date_.

so the way it looked then, like a fancy restaurant, but normal enough… but now, it’s practically _transformed_ , because he’s here on a _date_.

he hasn’t noticed the way the orangey streetlights filter in through the stained glass detailing at the top of the windows, streaming in and adding to the candle-lit, romantic atmosphere; he hasn’t noticed the soprano’s beautiful vibrato complementing each conversation, adding a perfectly timed undertone, as if it’s composed just for them; he hasn’t noticed how _romantic_ it all seems, a candlelit dinner with his love, with soft conversation and giggling at the _adultness_ of it all and held hands and covert kisses snuck over servings of shared tiramisu.

it’s like being with logan changes the way he looks at the entire world. 

roman moves ahead first, so he can pull out logan’s seat (just because he’s wearing a dress does _not_ mean he isn’t still a gentleman, _thank you_ ) and logan settles into the chair, that shy little smile clinging around his mouth as he did so, thanking roman in a quiet murmur.

“so,” roman says, once he settles in his seat and props his chin on his hand—look, he _knows_ he isn’t supposed to put his elbow on the table in a place like this, but he looks _cute_ like this, “three months. that’s, like, a sixty-fourth of our whole lives.”

“we’d known each other for one hundred and twenty-eight months without being romantic, so now that we’re on our three-month anniversary, that means we’ve been explicitly romantic with each other for approximately three one hundred and twenty-eighths of our lives—i wish that divided more cleanly—but it would be more accurate to say that we’ve been romantic for three- one hundred and ninety-sixths of our lives, considering i’m one hundred and ninety-six months old right now,” logan says, and frowns a little bit, seemingly put out that he’s working with such unwieldy denominators.

roman’s chest swells up with an amount of fondness that would be unimaginable, if he hadn’t ever known logan.

logan hesitates, before he adds on, awkwardly, “granted, those calculations are for myself, it would be a larger fraction for you since you aren’t sixteen yet, i think it would be more like—”

“i love you,” roman says. he doesn’t really _mean_ to say it, it just kind of comes out of his mouth, but boy is he happy he’s said it, because logan outwardly brightens as much as he ever does, and logan gets a touch of a dopey grin on his face, too.

“i love you too,” he says softly, and a waiter swoops in, as if he has a sensor installed to keep them from getting too sappy.

“welcome to andeloro’s,” he says, in the polished way that people do whenever they have to say something over and over and over again, “can i get you started with something to drink?”

logan looks to roman, and roman shakes himself a bit to get himself out of _admiring logan_ mode, and says, “um, do you have cherry coke?”

logan puts in an order for water—typical logan and his aggressive hydration agenda—and they’re left alone again.

after a beat of silence, logan says, “one sixty-third.”

“huh?” roman asks.

“the amount of your life that we’ve been together, fractionally,” logan says. “one sixty-third. one hundred and eighty-nine months divides much more cleanly with three than one hundred and ninety-six.”

roman’s grin widens, and he reaches to grab a piece of the complimentary bread, herby and crusty, to dip into olive oil.

“i _adore_ you,” he announces, and logan beams like roman’s paid him the most eloquently stated compliment in the history of spoken word.

it’s one of those nights that roman knows will be regarded as an incredibly fond memory, and it’s almost like the evening is going too fast; he keeps trying to commit all of it to memory, only to find the little bits and pieces already slipping away in a stream of warm, affectionate chatter and luxurious food in a fancy restaurant with his beautiful date, all of it making roman feel _incredibly_ grown-up.

logan keeps trying to make it all perfect, too; roman laughs at him when he can’t decide between three different kinds of pasta, and so logan orders all of them for him.

“you shouldn’t have to decide,” logan had said, “you should have everything you want,” which had made that big smile appear on his face again; roman, privately, thinks that logan’s going for a record tonight.

“so,” logan says, as they’re waiting for both their dessert and the check, “have you liked everything so far?”

“mm-hm,” roman says.

“the salad?”

“delicious.”

“the cheesy bread? i know you were worried it might be a bit heavy—”

“just heavy enough,” roman says, biting back laughter at his fretting—endearing as it is, he’s starting to sound like _virgil_. “everything’s been good. everything’s been _perfect_. even the soda here is superior to soda everywhere else.”

logan’s eyes narrow. “are you making fun of me?”

“a little,” roman says unashamedly, “but i feel like you probably should have expected that, after all three pastas.”

logan shrugs, just a little, before roman says, “i am seriously a major fan of the whole three-month anniversary thing, i promise. everything’s been lovely.”

logan lets out a little sigh of relief, and moves to wipe his hands off on the napkin on his lap, before his hands jump back to the table. “good,” he says, “good.”

the waiter comes, with a plate of tiramisu, two forks, and the check, which logan claims before roman can even glance at it.

“i could pay for my half,” roman says.

“i ordered two extra pastas for you,” logan points out. “ _plus_ , i was the one who initiated this date; previously, either we’ve split or the person who initiates the date pays the bill. therefore, i’ll pay the bill.”

roman acquiesces without much of a fight—logan probably knows that he’s going to be hearing noodle-themed nicknames for the next two weeks, if not longer—and instead moves to pick up a fork, lifting it to his mouth and humming delightedly.

“good?” logan asks, almost like he can’t help himself, but roman gives him a fondly exasperated look before he can help it, too; it’s honestly really cute that logan’s being _especially_ mindful of all the little details on this date.

roman hands over the other fork with a little flourish. “try it yourself.”

logan tries a forkful, and his eyelids flutter shut seemingly of their own volition. roman laughs at him, a little, but he also says “i _know_ , right?”

“even if the anniversary was totally sucking, which it one thousand katrillion percent isn’t, this would save it,” roman continues, his senses clouded by the delicate coffee taste and airy-light filling and the slightest hint of chocolate from an elaborate, template-aided design on the top of it. 

the way that logan’s eyelashes look against his cheek, magnified by his glasses, and the way his tongue chases any escaped morsel that might have landed on his lips, sucking lightly on the fork before he goes in for another bite, might _also_ have something to do with it.

“virgil _has_ to know some kind of tiramisu recipe,” logan says.

“if he doesn’t, we’re tying him up and forcing him to learn one when he gets back from whatever wedding he’s at right now,” roman agrees. 

logan would, ordinarily, take a statement like that incredibly too literally and argue against it before he realizes that roman was joking, but roman supposes that logan’s caffeine-loving self is just too preoccupied by what may be the most perfect dessert to bless his tastebuds since lucy’s house-made salted caramel ice cream.

* * *

after they exit the restaurant, and roman accepts the suit jacket that logan offers him when he starts exhaling tiny white, misty clouds—it may be a temperate enough day, but it’s still _march_ —as they slowly meander their way to the gazebo.

logan has an arm wrapped around roman’s shoulders, partially to keep him warm, but also to keep himself from reaching down to touch the uniform, boxy bulge in his front pocket, the way he’s been trying to avoid all evening; he’s about 85% certain that roman’s noticed, but roman must be acting nice enough to avoid commenting about it.

_(logan has been staring down at the wares in this woman’s kiosk for what must be an embarrassing amount of time._

_he can’t really tell, because he’s so lost in thought._

_because… it’s right there. a piece of jewelry that screams **ROMAN** more than any accessory he’s ever seen. it would be perfect for him. he would love it. it would make a very good present for their upcoming three-month anniversary._

_except…_

_“hey, kiddo, see something you like?”_

_logan jolts, ever so slightly, and rubs at the back of his neck, still staring._

_“maybe,” logan says, listlessly._

_“i can cover it, if you left your wallet at—” virgil’s voice, from behind him, and logan cringes **ever** so slightly, because he’s apparently been so lost in internal debate that this will now become a **parenting moment.**_

_they’re technically at the mall to get a few things for around the house—a new rug for his dad and virgil’s room, some plants for the front porch now that it’s almost spring, some new button-downs for him and his dad—but really, most of those shared goods, logan notices, are co-decision by virgil and his dad, because they’re going to move in together, sooner or later, it’s just that they’re both probably being very **stubborn** about it._

_“no, it’s just,” he says, and bites his lip, before he gestures to it._

_it’s a ring—a simple, weathered gold ring, shaped like a crown._

_patton makes an **ahh** noise, before he says, “thinking about roman, huh?”_

_“our three month anniversary’s two weeks from now,” logan says, by way of explanation._

_“a **present** for roman,” virgil says. “well, he’ll like it a lot, you know how much he likes gold and jewelry.”_

_“isn’t there,” logan says, and bites his lip a bit harder. “isn’t there an **expectation** , when it comes to giving a ring to a romantic other?”_

_there’s a silence. he can practically Feel the weight of the exchanged Parental Glance between the pair of them._

_“well,” patton says, in a very careful tone, “it doesn’t have to mean that thing if you don’t **want** it to mean that thing, honey.”_

_**but what if i want it to mean that thing** , his brain says. he shakes that thought off—they’re both sixteen, far too young, and statistically within the first ten years of marriage for high school sweethearts the rate of divorce was at fifty-four percent, much higher than the average couple at thirty-two percent—but, well. _

_logic and statistics kind of float out of his head whenever he thinks of roman, smiling at him, so beautiful and wonderful that it’s been making logan’s heart squeeze in his chest for almost as long as he can remember._

_“besides, it, um,” virgil says, and coughs a little, awkward. “i mean, i knew it was a thing at sideshire high when i went there—promise rings, i mean.”_

_“promise rings?” logan repeats, a little scornful; he’s only ever heard of those in insipid children’s novels._

_and also joanna posner, a former classmate of his, and unfortunately a classmate of roman’s. but he tries very hard not to expend too much effort thinking about joanna posner and her various vexing ways._

_“doesn’t even have to be a big commitment promise ring, if you want,” virgil says._

_**but i want it to be.** _

_“...or some people just used it to represent, like, a promise that they’d never lie to each other, you know, that kind of thing.”_

_“aw, virge,” patton says. “did you ever have on of those very popular promise rings?”_

_“nah,” virgil says, and logan can hear him smiling. “too punk-rock for that. ‘sides, part of me probably knew the only kinda promise ring i’d ever want is from you.”_

_his dad coos, and there’s the sound of them kissing, but logan doesn’t see his dad rocking up on his tiptoes and virgil leaning down to meet him, because he’s busy saying “i’ll take it” and offering the saleswoman a tri-folded ten dollar bill.)_

“would you like to sit in the gazebo?” logan asks, and roman nods, and so they plod forward so that they can sit on the gazebo’s stairs, staring out at the town—not lit all up for christmas, but there are still fairy lights tangled in some of the trees, and the streetlamps provide their own form of visually fascinating lighting.

logan clears his throat, before he says, “i have a present for you.”

roman gasps, turning toward him happily. “a _present_?!”

logan digs around in his pocket, and holds it in his clasped hands before roman can get a close look at it, turning to face him head-on. 

“i know there’s a—an _expectation_ ,” logan says, and cursing himself for blushing _again_ , “with, um. with a present like this. but i just saw it, and i knew you’d like it, so it—it doesn’t have to mean anything you want it to—”

“okay, you’re making me nervous,” roman says. “c’mon, gimme!”

logan opens up his hands to reveal the box; it’s plastic, so roman can clearly see it, but he cracks open the box, staring at it.

and _staring_ at it.

he isn’t saying anything.

_why isn’t he saying anything?!_

“it’s gold,” logan bursts out, when the silence gets to be too much. “you know, like—you like gold. and, um, it’s a crown, so it doesn’t—you like crowns. since, um, since you like crowns, and gold, i just thought—”

“i love it,” roman tells him.

“oh,” logan says, a little breathlessly. “good.”

roman opens the box, and examines the ring, before he says very suddenly, still staring at the ring, “you know, with all this talk of expectations, it reminds me of joanna posner strutting around with rich bloomenfeld’s football ring when we were freshmen.”

logan flushes, because, well. joanna posner _had_ been his thought, too.

“well, like i said, it doesn’t have to—”

but then roman slips the golden crown ring on his left ring finger, which shuts logan up.

it fits perfectly; perhaps a little loose, but not loose enough that it’ll fall past roman’s knuckle.

logan is feeling a little light-headed, actually, if he’s thinking about it. and that’s a bit hard to do, _because roman is wearing a ring logan bought him on the finger signifying marriage._

“it does, actually,” roman says, and it’s only because logan knows him so well that he can tell that roman is fighting his very hardest to come off cool and collected. “because _i_ am going to strut _circles_ around joanna posner, and it would certainly be a shame if i wasted my best strutting material if this _wasn’t_ a promise ring.”

“it is,” logan blurts out. “i mean—i was hoping—it isn’t too—?”

but then roman cups logan’s jaw, and pulls him in for a kiss, and logan has very little to think about other than roman and the scent of his cologne and the still-cold metal on his finger that logan can feel on his skin and the fireworks that seem to be going off all throughout his chest. roman’s fingers feel cold against the heat of his cheeks, and roman’s grinning into the kiss, which makes it a little difficult to really be _coordinated_ with the whole kissing thing, but logan can hardly blame him.

because roman said _yes_. 

which means, one day, that roman will probably say yes again, to a ring that costs more than ten dollars, that lives in a nice velvet box rather than a plastic one, and it’ll be a promise fulfilled. a promise they’d made _tonight_.

this is, quite possibly, the best three-month anniversary that has ever existed _on record._

**Author's Note:**

> update: [WE GOT FANART, PEOPLE, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!](https://lovelylogans.tumblr.com/post/625264257318207488/oh-my-god-look-at-this-this-is-so)


End file.
